The Angel and the Demon
by Mandolin77
Summary: Fugue reveres Frederic as an angel on earth, unworthy of a devil like him. What happens when heaven and hell combine? Fluffy, yaoi, FredericXFugue. My first lemon! O o


Thanks to all the lovely reviews and criticism I've received, I've attempted to revise the story a little. Not too much different, but I can change it more later. :. ) Still pretty mushy, though...

**Disclaimer: I don't own Eternal Sonata or any of the characters. :. (**

**Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, lots of fluff. If you're allergic to any of those elements, please don't read! **

I love crack pairings, just to see if I can make them work. X. D Aren't I evil? I enjoy putting Fugue and Frederic together, since I think they balance each other out very well. This is my first _public_ lemon and my first ever yaoi, so please enjoy the sad attempts. ;. D I apologize for the length and the fluff; I couldn't find a good place to break it up, and I honestly don't see the point of writing straight smut with no relationship - it always feels like I'm reading a rape report! Reviews and constructive criticism are ALWAYS welcome!

ENJOY!

Frederic felt something warm and soft press against his lips in a gentle kiss, and he smiled faintly in his sleep, opening his eyes. A man was bending over the bed with one hand on the pillow above Frederic's head and the other held behind his back. The cruel face had been warped into a kind of unnatural smile, but it was his eyes that told the story; bright and shining in the morning light, happy for once. He was re-learning how to be happy.

"Good morning, dove," the man whispered, bending closer for another kiss.

Frederic pulled him down onto the bed, rolling over so there was enough room for them both. "Good morning." He paused, and began to laugh softly, covering his mouth with one hand. "Last night, did we... did we really…?"

"Make out at the party? Yes. Don't worry," he added as Frederic began to blush, "I made sure to make it look as though I was attacking you; they won't think any less of you at all. Luckily you were so drunk that it really wasn't that hard."

"I don't remember the party very well," Frederic lied, blushing harder.

"You know, you're probably the only person I've ever seen get drunk off of one glass of wine." He turned his head to look at the man beside him. "I do believe I've corrupted you."

Frederic laughed again. "What makes you think that the corruption wasn't my own doing?"

"An angel like you, corrupt itself? Impossible. No, you need someone like me to show you how it's done."

"You're not so very bad, Fugue, and you know it." Fugue gave him another twisted smile, the glass of his monocle glinting in the sunlight. "If it makes you feel any better, that's not my first taste of wine."

The silver-haired man chuckled, moving his leg against Frederic's. "Oh? Well then, I would have hated to see you the first time. Or loved – I suppose it would depend." He turned just in time to see the coy smile slip across Frederic's lips. He couldn't help but smile back, rolling closer. "And just what are you grinning about, huh?"

The older man nudged his mouth beside Fugue's ear. "I wasn't drunk."

"You weren't? So what would you call it?"

"I was faking."

"Faking?" Fugue laughed aloud. "You looked pretty wasted to me." When he received no answer he laughed again, licking the shell of the other's ear. "Alright, alright, I'll bite: Why were you pretending to be a drunk off your ass moron?"

"Because."

"Because you didn't want to look as though you were _enjoying_ my forward attempts at ravaging you?"

"No. Because I wanted you to come closer."

Fugue snorted. "And you thought pretending to be drunk would get me to do just that?"

"Well it worked, didn't it?"

The silver haired man rolled until he was practically lying on top of the other. "I don't know. That would depend; just how close were you hoping I'd get?" He lifted himself up so that he was straddling Frederic's hips, smirking when he felt the man shiver under him.

"Why didn't you touch me last night?"

"I touched you quite a bit."

"No," he shook his head, trying to squirm away. "You know what I mean."

"You want to know _why I didn't fuck you _last night, is that it?"

Frederic colored. "I suppose so."

"Maybe I just didn't feel like it." They both knew that was a lie; Fugue had been eyeing the older man for months, but so far kissing was all that they had done.

"You ought to have jumped at your chance."

"What chance? You act as though you simply threw off your clothes and demanded I take you then and there."

"I was intoxicated and staggering against you, letting you pin me to the wall and kiss me like a madman in front of more than a dozen people. I probably would have let you keep going if you had tried. So… why didn't you?"

"Well, as you said, you were only _fake _drunk."

"But you didn't know that."

Fugue smiled and inched closer to take Frederic's lips in a soft kiss. "I have my reasons, rest assured."

"Would you care to enlighten me?"

"No."

Frederic returned the kiss. "Please?"

"If you _must _know, I didn't feel it was the proper time."

"The way you keep looking at me, I didn't realize there _was_ a proper time. I thought you would take the first chance you saw."

The silver-haired man sighed and rolled off, lounging on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe he was about to admit this to the man lying beside him. "Maybe I wanted your permission first; did you ever think of that?" He gave a wry grin in an attempt to hide his discomfort. Why the hell was he being so goddamned _honest?_ It was disgusting. "Wouldn't want to compromise your _dignity_ or anything, you know."

Frederic didn't answer for a long time, looking at Fugue with a mixture of amazement and bewilderment. "Y-you're kidding."

"Well, I could come up with a more remarkable answer, if you like."

"Fugue, that has to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. You wanted my permission first… that's so… noble of you."

"Spineless, you mean." The cynical protests were cut short when Frederic pressed their mouths together briefly before getting up off the bed to lock the door. Fugue watched with passing interest, intertwining his fingers behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

Frederic made no answer, but came back to the bed and lay down on the swordsman's chest, planting one knee on either side of him. "So?"

"So I don't believe that you weren't drunk last night." Fugue tried to sit up, but the older man shifted his weight and kept him pinned to the bed. "I don't believe you're sober."

"That isn't what I was asking."

He laughed. "Alright, _so _what?"

"So are you going to ask me?"

"I thought you were asking _me_ something."

"I'm asking if you're going to ask."

Fugue laughed again. "I'm afraid that your inebriated logic has lost me."

"I'm not inebriated."

"Oh, I think you are." He struggled free, only to have Frederic lean up and push him back, holding him by the shoulders. "Very much so."

Frederic bent down and caught his mouth in a gentle kiss that sent shivers up Fugue's spine. "Go on, ask me."

"You're going to have to be more specific."

"You know what I mean." It was true, he _did _know, but he was afraid to voice it.

"I… um," he found that he couldn't talk; his breath was stuck in his throat, squeezing all rational reflection out of his head. Lord, it was hard to think when you were being straddled by an angel.

"Go on." Frederic leaned in for another ardent kiss, freeing the words in Fugue's throat.

"Frederic, I… I want you."

He smiled. "But you already have me."

"No. That's not enough. I _want_ you," he whispered, wincing at the hoarse words. Frederic smiled, and Fugue tugged his face down to meet his, smothering him in fervent, almost wild kiss. "I want _all_ of you," he moaned, slipping his tongue through the velvet lips. "Right now."

Frederic slowly pulled away, and leaned down to nip at the pale neck lightly before sitting back up. Fugue gave a dry grin, but the fear of rejection was clear in his eyes.

"Frederic…"

He bent down and kissed the silver hair that trembled with agitation. "Fugue, you don't understand. You've _always _had me." He pulled the red mouth to his softly. "And… I want you, too." With that he moved his hands up and slid Fugue's jacket off in one deft motion, revealing the leather plate armor underneath.

"Y-yes?"

"Yes."

Timidly the swordsman took hold of the long white tunic Frederic had slept in, twining his fingers in the fabric. _Timidly_. Fuck, what a mess this pianist was making of him. As if to offer assurance, Frederic touched Fugue's hands, urging them upwards. Fugue obediently slid the nightshirt off over the other's head, trying not to gasp at the expanse of smooth, pale flesh revealed underneath. Frederic kissed him again, almost teasingly, before letting his long fingers unclasp the metal catches on either side of the armor. He pulled the leather away to expose a velvet tunic and tight cotton undershirt, and smiled.

"You wear almost as many layers as I do," he murmured, playing with the velvet collar.

"I am so glad you're still in your nightclothes. What a pain to undress you!"

"It's more of a pain to re-dress."

"I would help you."

Frederic smiled again and took one of Fugue's armored hands in his own. Fugue stifled a hiss as the rawhide gauntlets were stripped off. He closed his eyes against the feel of Frederic's fingers tracing up and down his wrist.

"Aren't I ugly?" he joked, not opening his eyes. There was no reply. "It gets worse, you know. Those scars are nothing compared to what else I've got." He cleared his throat in an attempt to clear the constricting feeling. He _was not _about to cry.

Suddenly he felt his arm lifted up, and Frederic's soft lips outlined the disfigurements. Fugue's breath stopped. Without letting go, the older man unhooked the other gauntlet and did the same, pressing his lips and tongue over the purple scars.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, leaning forward to capture Fugue in a kiss. "All of you."

Finally Fugue dared to open his eyes, and he found such earnest love and compassion in the other man's face that he couldn't help but smile. "It's okay, you can say it. I know I'm ugly."

"You couldn't be ugly to me." And then, as if to prove it, he laid a tender kiss against each wrist, against the throb of Fugue's reformed heart. Fugue gasped at the touch, wondering what this man had that could make him melt the way he was. He felt stupid, childish. There was nothing sexual about the gesture, but yet it made the air catch in his throat, made him blush, _him_ who hadn't shown emotion since he was ten years old. Why? What was so special about the tall, frail man lying on top of him; what did he posses that none of the others had? Fugue was no stranger to sex; he'd had dozens of partners, some willing, some not, some who had even taken him by force. Yet no one had ever touched him like this before. It was the gentleness rather than the strength behind the actions that made them strange, and pleasantly so. He sniggered involuntarily, and Frederic looked up from where he had been kissing his neck, smiling when he saw the grin on his lover's face that slid off as quickly as it had come.

"I take it that wasn't you I heard laughing, correct?"

Fugue shook his head. "Not at all."

"So, if, by chance it had been, what would it be that you were chuckling about?"

"Nothing, really, I just…. always thought of myself as a masochist."

Frederic laughed aloud and went back to kissing the fragile skin of his white throat. "Am I breaking you of that notion?"

He moaned as Frederic licked the line of his jaw, leaving behind the feel of fire on his skin. "Ahhhmmm… yes, I believe you are." He arced his neck towards the touch of Frederic's lips.

"Good." He licked the other's ear mischievously, grinning at the sigh it evoked. "I'm glad. Pain isn't the right way to love someone." He brought their faces together and kissed him earnestly. "This is." Gently he rolled Fugue's arms back and tugged the velvet tunic off over his head to slide his hands up under the cotton shirt.

"Don't..." Fugue squeezed his eyes shut, squirming uncomfortably. Frederic frowned.

"Is something wrong?" He paused. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" He took his hands away, concerned, and bent down to kiss the other's lips almost anxiously. "I apologize, Fugue. I didn't intend to put you in pain." The swordsman only shook his head.

"You didn't do anything. I'm sorry, it's okay. Keep going."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

Frederic stopped short, his face twisting in pain as understanding dawned on him. "You don't want me to see you, do you? You're afraid of what I'll think. You're afraid I won't find you appealing." The younger man made no answer, but only shook his head without opening his eyes. The composer's face softened. "Fugue, you don't have to agonize over your body." He slipped off the last of Fugue's upper clothing, pulling his own face down to the bruised skin, planting barely-there kisses everywhere as he worked his way across. The silver-haired man whined softly in his ear as he ran his tongue up and down the crimson ridges, touching his lips everywhere he could reach. "You are beautiful, Fugue. You are _beautiful. _I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you." Fugue snorted. "I wish that you could believe me when I say that." He snorted again, but the sound was cut short by a whimper when Frederic reached beneath him to caress the broken skin on his back. "Turn over," Frederic whispered.

Uncertainly Fugue rolled over onto his stomach, squeezing his eyes closed when he heard the composer catch his breath. Instead he tried to laugh, hiding a dry sob in the sardonic chuckle.

"See? I told you I'm ugly." There was no answer, and he turned his head to look at the man behind him. Frederic was sitting quietly, weeping soundlessly as he ran his fingers up and down the wounds that had been re-opened over and over again until it had become impossible for them to ever really heal. He opened his mouth a few times before words came out.

"Did… did Waltz do this to you?"

Fugue laughed again, burying his face in the pillow to disguise the fact that his eyes were bright with tears that wouldn't be shed. He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Every one is a mark of some failure or other. He… he liked the idea that they were so deep that they'd never mend; I'll remember each time I failed for the rest of my life."

Frederic moved his fingers up and down against the man's back, as though he were playing the piano. The swordsman groaned under him.

"Are you alright?"

Fugue nodded. "I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I'm so revolting. You… you deserve better than me… than _this_." Angrily he gestured down at his ruined body. Frederic offered no reply, but took his shoulder and rolled him over onto his side so that he could lie down beside him, pressing their mouths together in the sweetest kiss.

"Please, Fugue, don't ever say that. You're lovely. You are _exactly_ what I've always wanted, what I've always needed. How could I possibly be worthy of anything more than a soul mate?"

Fugue sniffed and looked up into Frederic's eyes. "I… Frederic, I..." He was silenced with another kiss.

"I know." He smiled. "I do, too." He moved his hands down around the other man's belt, almost as though he were begging permission. Fugue nodded. The long, pale fingers began to loosen the clasp. Grinning mischievously, he pulled the belt out of its place but refused to do anything else. Instead he leaned back into a new kiss, threaded his hands through the silver hair, touched the scars along the other's chest, doing anything to build up the tension between them.

Fugue tugged at the waistband of Frederic's loose pants, nibbling gently at his ear as he slipped the clothing down bit by bit, blushing for why he knew not. Fuck, he really was blushing! But then he found that he really didn't care, and only shook his head and smiled into another kiss. This was meant to be. He knew that. And as he pressed closer, drawing off the last of his – what were they now, lovers? – garments, he realized that Fredric wanted this as much as he did; the man shivered under his hand.

Frederic reached up and unbuttoned Fugue's trousers, trailing his fingers down along his legs and thighs as he slid them down, while the swordsman pulled the final article of clothing all the way off, nipping at the delicate skin as he worked his way lower, awfully conscious of how easily he could break the older man. Then he moved back up and wrapped his arms around Frederic's neck and they just lay there together for a long time: naked, tangled in each other, breathing heavily, oblivious to the world outside.

"What…" Fugue tried to keep the envy out of his voice, "what could you possibly see in _me_ when you…" He laughed, at a loss for words, and waved with the hand that wasn't wrapped up in strands of dark hair. "I mean, _look _at you! You're beautiful. You're perfect." He kissed the faultless lips, and lightened his tone. "What could_ someone like you_ want with a _fiend_ like me?"

The older man laughed, touching their lips and tongues together again before pulling away. "Don't be so cruel to yourself; you don't know what you're talking about." He moved his head down across Fugue's belly, licking at the scars and muscles. "There is heaven and hell within each of us."

Fugue tilted his head back, moaning in the back of his throat as he stared at the ceiling and felt his body tense up with every touch. "I don't believe that. There is no hell in you." Without looking down he found Frederic's head again and took a handful of black curls in one fist, pressing them closer.

"No?" He aimed his kisses even lower, and Fugue jolted under him.

"Ngggh… No. None at all. Anyone with evil in them can't be perfect, and you, my love, are just that. Ahhn!" He jerked up again, pressing his hips up against Frederic's cheek bones. He felt Frederic smirk against his skin and put an elegant hand up to hold him to the bed while he slid Fugue into his mouth entirely.

"Nothing in this world is perfect." He hummed the words against Fugue's hardened member, and the swordsman yelped in surprise, his body writhing. Frederic looked up at him and smiled, moving his mouth back to the bruising lips.

"They're going to wonder," he murmured, smiling again.

"What the hell do they care?" Fugue grasped the older man roughly by the shoulders and rolled him over onto his back, switching their positions. "What the hell do we care, for that matter?" Frederic leaned up to press their mouths together.

"I believe we'll care a great deal when we're interrupted by Beat knocking on the door asking if we're alright." He arched his back as Fugue ran his fingers down the white skin of his belly.

"Not me." Frederic moaned as the fingers trailed further down. "I'm too deep into this to stop now, and there aren't enough eight-year-olds in the world to make me." Before he could think of a reply, the composer's mouth was being invaded by long digits that petted his tongue expectantly. Frederic smiled and let the let the hand slide in further, sucking on the three uninvited fingers, coating them with saliva. After a minute Fugue slipped back out and trailed his hand lightly downward, leaving slick trails all across the white skin. Finally he reached the entrance, and Frederic shifted as he probed with one finger.

"I presume this is going to hurt?" he murmured, closing his eyes.

"I wouldn't hurt you if I didn't have to." Fugue licked the tip of Frederic's erection gently, as if in apology for pain he hadn't yet caused. Frederic moaned and rolled his hips. "I'll be gentle," the swordsman promised as he pushed the first finger inside, past the ring of contracted muscles.

It wasn't painful, Frederic decided, just… strange. He whimpered slightly, nevertheless, and had to make a conscious effort not to squirm out of reach. Fugue laid his head against the prominent bone of Frederic's hip, licking it softly in regret as he put in another finger and listened to Frederic groan at the sudden discomfort. He began to scissor the fingers apart, whispering against the white skin.

"I know it hurts, but it will be over soon." Apologetically he added the last finger and flexed them in time to the rise and fall of Frederic's chest, searching for something to dull the suffering on his friend's face.

"Haah-an! F-Fugue!"

Fugue smirked, knowing what he had found, and began to rub the spot skillfully, faster and faster as Frederic gripped the back of his head and moaned his name. Finally Fugue pulled away, grinning at the man panting before him.

"Are you ready?" Weakly, Frederic nodded, unable to keep from smiling back. "So you're a virgin, I'm guessing?" The swordsman pulled the other into his lap, spreading his legs further. Frederic smiled coyly, trying not to blush.

"I don't know, I suppose that would depend on your definition of 'virgin.'"

"I'll bet you've never been _fucked _before." He bent down to brush their lips together, impressed that the composer was still managing to meet his gaze despite the vivid red that dusted his cheeks and hinted at the discomfiture present just under the cool eyes. Rather than look away, Frederic sat up halfway to return the kiss, mischievously bucking his hips, grinding their bodies against each other.

"You ought to be thrilled; I waited for _you._" He rolled his hips again, looking both playful and impatient. "But I won't wait much longer."

Fugue moaned at the feel of skin rubbing against skin, smiling despite himself. He had to admit, he was proud: he had gotten the most proper man on the face of the earth to say something that resembled trash. He wondered what _else _Frederic might say if he were kept hanging… but decided against it. To be completely honest, he couldn't wait much longer, either.

Instead, Fugue pulled the other man's face up to his as he slid inside, holding him in a passionate kiss, trying to distract him from the pain. Of course, if Frederic felt any pain at all he didn't show it; he gasped into the kiss and threw his arms around Fugue's neck, drawing him closer, moaning softly in his ear. The younger man found himself lightheaded with desire, slowly losing any self control he might have ever had. Once entirely inside he stopped, not wanting to hurt the other, but his whole body shook with the effort of restraint. The moaning in his ear continued.

Frederic panted, unsure of what he felt or how he was supposed to feel. The sensation of having another breach him like this was… bizarre. More so than the fingers. It burned like it ought to have been painful, but the burn was delicious, sending a shock of ache and delight up his spine. He felt like a fool, listening to the noises of pleasure that were spilling out of his mouth, but he couldn't help it. He had never experienced anything like this before, the experience of having someone else _inside_ of him. He let out a shaky moan and pulled their bodies closer.

"Fuh-Fugue… it's okay. You can move now." Gratefully Fugue began to thrust into him, groaning at the friction. The immense heat that surrounded his member was almost dizzying, intoxicating, making it hard to think of anything except the sensations that enveloped him. The same thought kept running through his brain, almost as exhilarating as the actions: He was fucking an angel. He was fucking an_ angel!_ Here was a perfect, white body spread out on the bed before him, panting under him, writhing in delight, gasping _his _name over and over again. What he had ever done to deserve this, Fugue would never know, couldn't find it in himself to care.

Without warning, Frederic shouted and convulsed beneath him, his eyes rolling up into his head, his fingers reaching up to grasp at the hands wrapped around his waist. Fugue grinned and thrust harder as the composer's hips began to move in time with his own, creating a strange sort of dance between them. After a minute he hit the spot again, relishing the feel of the man shuddering and tightening around him. God, it felt so _good_. He forced himself to slow down and attempted to gauge his timing so that Frederic would experience nothing but the immense pleasure. The strangled cries and screams told him he was pretty damn close.

Frederic sighed and closed his eyes, letting go of time as Fugue made love to him. Fugue smiled, and they lost track of time together. There was no future or past, no tomorrow, no yesterday, nothing… nothing but the here and now, this moment, this breath, this, this, this. The clock ticked on and they didn't heed it. They couldn't be bothered to; they were tangled up in one another, panting each other's names, drenched in the rapture that was love, relishing the heartbeats that resounded in their chests but yet were not their own.

Frederic was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of being entirely filled as Fugue came inside of him, crushing their mouths together in an attempt to stifle the cries of elation. A few more well-aimed thrusts and Frederic came, too, with a loud, choked moan before falling back onto the pillows, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time. Fugue collapsed on Frederic's chest, splaying his silver hair across the perfect muscles that still quivered softly with euphoria. A long hand reached down and intertwined with his, and he trailed chaste kisses as he moved out of his lover for the first time. Frederic squirmed with the sudden emptiness, but smiled as Fugue came to lie beside him, pulling the blanket up to cover them both. They embraced again and exchanged sleepy kisses.

"I'm yours, now," Frederic mumbled as he was pulled up against Fugue's chest.

"I thought you said that I've always had you."

"You have; now it's official."

Fugue laughed and sucked gently on the skin just below Frederic's ear. "Well, I guess that means I'm yours, too."

"You're going to bruise me."

"I _ought _to brand you. Then everyone will know who you belong to."

"I believe they already know. They've been listening to us downstairs, remember."

"Don't worry about it. If anyone bothers you, they've got to answer to _me_, now." Frederic laughed and turned to kiss Fugue again, running his tongue over the bottom lip. Fugue smiled and let the tongue slip in. "How do I taste?" he murmured when the broke apart.

"Sour, like peaches that aren't quite ripe."

"Is that good?"

"The first time I kissed you, you tasted like hard liquor. After that, _anything_ would be better." Then he laughed and their lips met again. "It is good. Unexpected, but pleasant. You taste reminiscent of the seasons, the spring that trembles on the verge of summer."

Fugue laughed. "Yeah? You're almost _too_ sweet, like honey and nectar and heavy creams and dark, fine wines. Full blown summer, sitting up to watch the fireflies come out at dusk and smell the murky roses whose brooding fragrance is so saccharine it makes you dizzy." He sighed, his eyes closing of their own accord. Beside him, Frederic yawned. "I can be a poet, too, you know."

"Love brings out the bard in all of us."

The swordsman smiled and held him closer. "Do you know what?"

"What?"

"I think I love you."

Frederic smiled and kissed him again, noting the strange taste on the other's lips that made him smile wider. "I love you, too."

Hope you liked it! Please review and critique; I'm eager to get better. ;. D


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